


Landing

by ArgentNoelle



Series: What happened between Thor 1 and The Avengers [2]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Character Study, Death, Gen, Implied Mind Rape, Kneeling, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loneliness, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Mind Games, Plans, Power Dynamics, Powerlessness, Psychological Trauma, Solitary Confinement, Stream of Consciousness, Temptation, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentNoelle/pseuds/ArgentNoelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki fell through the void, but it did not last forever. Now he lands on a strange planet and finds himself captured. Torture is one thing, but what will he do when offered peace? </p><p>what happened between Thor and The Avengers, continued. / SEQUAL TO 'DESCENT'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was no knowledge of coming close to an end, no rushed feeling, no encroaching ground. Just—one moment he was flying, the next he was on the ground (in the ground) shards of rock blasting up from the crater where he fell, finding himself landing in a plain of ice and snow. And snow fell, lightly, into his open mouth as he stared unseeing into the dark.

He didn’t move.

He wasn’t sure if he could, or if he even wanted to. Falling had not been death, yes; but it was an end—it was some sort of—if not peace, at least the absence of the requirement of purpose. And now it had ended. And he felt for the first time—

The snow melted into his clothes and landed on his eyelashes. He blinked, and water melted into shining droplets. There was pain also.

Every nerve-ending in his body was on fire with pain, but he did not mind, because pain was not coldness, it was warmth, it was life, and here he was alive after all that had happened and why?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He stared up into the sky and again it was unreachable when he had been a part of it. And he felt betrayed. Cast out, once again, by even the universe itself.

And eventually, when the pain had slowly turned to only an ache, a low, lingering ache, and he found himself realizing he was covered in snow and yet not chilled—he felt like he was curled up in a blanket of softness and comfort. And yet. He tried to sit up. Couldn’t think about what that entailed. He struggled to move.

For a moment he wondered if he had forgotten how, or if the fall had damaged some part of him beyond repair, but then a finger curled, and his hand curled, his arm stiffened, moved, forced itself upward downward he used muscles he had long forgotten in the depth of space and panting, weakly, he pulled himself up, kneeling on the cold ground, and he looked around.

And he was not alone.

Standing to one side to every side watching with detached curiosity were strange beings, wearing armor that shone with strange purple lights—not all of it, most was dark and dim, and they blended into the light like pillars of stone. And he wasn’t sure if they were real, or statues, or another figment of his mind, but then it moved, one of them moved.

He tried to stand up, to defend himself to show strength but he couldn’t, everything reeled around him, the sky below him and the ground above, and he held onto the ground his arms trembling and stared into what may have been the face of the creature. And tried to speak, and found that he could not.

“What are you?” the creature asked. And he stared up at it, so impassive as it asked him a question with no answer and he tried to speak and his tongue was silent.

The creature moved again, its voice took on an edge of danger, and it said once more, “what are you. Speak.”

And he moved his mouth opened his lips moved he swallowed he touched his tongue to his teeth they were so cold and he cleared his throat it made a sound like something long unused and strange and then he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, blinked. And then he said, “I—”

The creature waited for a moment, then it leaned forward, menace entering its tone. “Do not test our patience, thing. Speak. Tell us what you are.”

“I am Loki.”

They turned and spoke among themselves, a strange language without words that he could not decipher. The one who had talked to him before turned back to him as he sat there and did not wonder because he was done with wondering, he had used up every thought in his mind related to wondering, he had no space left even to wish. “What is Loki?”

“I am,” he said, and it was true, and he laughed.

The creature didn’t seem to like that. It reached out and grabbed him by the neck, lifted him dangling above the ground, and brought his face close to it, and he could feel breath from the creature’s mouth as it breathed, warm breath that made no cloud in the air for some reason but of course it was the armor and he wanted to learn how but it said, “Do not. Laugh. At us. Thing.”

And the breath was going from his lungs and he wondered if these creatures were strong enough to kill a god and wondered if he wanted them to and it loosed its grip and he fell like a doll to the ground in a splay of limbs and breathed putting his hands to his neck as if to protect himself and they laughed. He stared up, eyes cold, and wheezed, trying to breathe, and he stood up, and stood even though he was swaying almost falling no he would never fall again and said in a dangerously calm voice. “My name is Loki.”

“We shall inform our leader of that,” said the one who had spoken to him. And with a nod of its armoured head it moved and the others followed and he thought they might leave him there and stared after them in some sort of vague bafflement and then one passed next to him, one of the last perhaps, and with one arm grabbed him up and slung him over its shoulder and kept walking even as he kicked and struggled and tried to use magic, but for some reason he couldn’t until all of a sudden a huge blast of fire erupted from his hands and melted the armour and there was a scream, he jumped backward they looked at him all at once with stony faces and as one surrounded him.

And someone went up to the pitiful remain of the one that had carried him, still mewling, a horrid, blackened fireball of melted metal and the lights were out, and twisted its neck and it lay dead. Making no noise.

And then they turned to him.

“So. You work magic.” Then they brought out a metal ring icy cold and shoved it around his neck, forcing him to kneel in the cold icy ground neck bared as if he were to be executed but they closed the metal around his neck and it touched him like a thousand suns as he screamed, and at once everything was gone—the world around him, only, the hands in front of him, fingers clasped loosely, one fingernail broken. And dirty. And tears came to his eyes because he felt it leaving him, being forged into a small tight place inside of him, his magic, where he could not longer use it. And then they dragging him to his feet, and he felt light, as if he would float into the sky if no one held him down. And dragging him through the darkness, the soft snow making slipping noises under his boots, and he looked at his hands but his eyes were blurred with tears though he would not cry.

And he felt so tired. 


	2. Chapter 2

They trudged through the snowy land for what felt like hours, must have been hours or years or centuries perhaps he had lost all sense of time in the void measured by only his own thoughts which were now slow as ice and so time moved slow. And he put one foot against the other as the snow kept falling onto his hair and into his eyes and didn’t melt. They pushed him when he staggered, and when he fell they dragged him upward, unspeaking, and he would not plead did not had nothing to say to them but his mind seemed to have shattered or melted in the cold warmth. For it was uncomprehending and barren. And dawn never came.

He watched his hands shaking with tension and some sort of tiredness that he did not feel, tight as a bowstring, and so thin he could make out the bones beneath but still, you could always do so with hands even if they looked skeletal that was no indication of anything and he was fine.

He told himself he was, and it wasn’t the cold that went into his bones because it did not affect him, it was the wet, and the sludging trudging falling and being dragged up and moving after so long only drifting yet he was still drifting in the sea of his mind.

The momentary clarity he had found when he hit the earth had slipped away and everything was harder to think and so he didn’t. even so he could feel the tight place where he magic was, and the rest of him felt so empty where his magic should be and wasn’t and part of him wondered if this was contributing to his lightheadedness at all because since they had bound him he found it hard even to put one thought in front of the other foot and so to go on but that was of no matter.

He tried to be thankful for small mercies. At least he wasn’t cold.

He cursed Thor, in his mind, for pushing him off the bifrost into the abyss and wondered what would have happened if he had not, and why he had done it. and wondered why he had decided to kill Thor in the first place because he didn’t remember why it had been so important that he not be a monster.

He hoped Frigga would not grieve too much for him.

Then at once he found that they had stopped and became aware of his surroundings when he fell and they did not drag him up again. And he stared around at a huge something built there, like stairs, like stairs made for a giant. And it was very beautiful, lights shining in the darkness, and the strong curves reminded him of Asgard, only Asgard in shadow.

And then they were up again and in, and now it was marginally warmer again, and more of them were walking about without their head armour on and nodded and they did not look so monstrous after all. There were far worse. The heat was marginal, so he knew from observation, because the snow they brought in with them took its time in melting and yet it felt hot to him, as if he were being bathed in a furnace and he checked his hands once more just in case and when they were not blue he told himself he had been foolish. And clenched his hands and imagined punching their smug faces in and making them kneel.

But they kept on through winding corridors and then opened something and he walked into a small room, the walls smooth and tall, and they closed the door and all at once there were no lights because there were no windows and he was alone again.

He stood, for one moment, as the complete darkness impressed upon him his situation. And then he felt something rising up inside his throat, some sort of fire and it tore his mouth and he screamed, and beat upon the door with his fists, and kicked it, and it did not yield, and he slipped down, sobbing, fingers curled around the metal ring and trying to pry it off his neck, rubbing it raw until his fingers were slick with sweat.

Then he sat down in the middle of the room, and calmed himself. He closed his eyes, and listened to the slow breathing in the darkness, and made himself notice how hungry he was, and how tired. How his feet ached as though they were logs and not feet at all, how his arms trembled and twitched, how his head seemed to spin, how the world seemed to spin under his closed eyelids and he only wanted sleep.

Death, or sleep—it was of no difference to him. He lay down and there, in the darkness, he listened as he drifted away upon the paths of dream, as he had not done in so long. 


	3. Chapter 3

He only knew he had awoken because the door opened and he heard it. All at once he felt around him the floor and the air and almost tasted the smell that floated through, the tallow candles and burning torches but perhaps he was imagining it because there had been no flames.

Then there was one. And looked at him. He stood up. “What do you want with me,” he said, and it answered him, “our leader wants to see you.”

And he had half a mind to refuse but there was no purpose in doing so as it would not change anything and so he followed it under the corridor and tried to think.

Evidently they were interested in him. Whatever way this interest manifested itself, he could find a way to help them. Helping brought people into his trust, it was a natural reaction. You thought, oh yes that man he has helped me so many times, if not for him I would be dead, and then did not suspect his real aims.

And so they walked, in silence, until Loki decided to ask, “what is this place?”

The guard just stared at him for a moment as though he did not understand what Loki was doing, talking like this, as though he were not afraid.

It did not answer.

They came into a bigger room, and there he was, the leader they had spoken of—he was tall, his face turned to look out some high window as dust motes danced in the air. And when he turned his face had the most ghastly smile that sent a shiver through him for some reason he did not understand because he had faced many a fierce foe in his life and yet this man was terrifying and he knew not why.

Then the guard left, and Loki resented him for it.

“So. You are the mage.”

“I am,” Loki said.

“Come here,” the leader said, and walked toward the far end of the room. Loki followed, because he had always been curious, wanting to know had been his downfall many times before.

Then they passed through the dark hall and came to the door of a smaller room. And then the man looked at him once again as he drew up beside him. He looked at Loki as one might look as a tool to do one’s purpose, a tool that had been sold to one by a rather unscrupulous fellow, one with promise which might yet turn out to be nothing more than trash. Then he reached out and drew one big finger across the collar around his neck, almost touching his throat, and Loki stood still and did not move.

“I’m going to take this off you,” he said, conversationally, his fingers now just touching the exposed skin of his neck, with a light touch like a brush of finger against silk. “I warn you that if you defy me, I will kill you.”

Then Loki spoke. “What makes you think you can kill me?”

The man threw back his head and laughed, long, his hand slipping from the metal ring and down to his side. “I have killed worlds. I have killed races you have never heard of, more powerful than ever you could be. Have no doubt, little sorcerer, that I could kill you.”

Loki blinked. In the space around them, everything was very silent. Not really as silent as the void—even the snow falling made a sound, and minute noises the body makes.

Still it seemed the whole world had gone away while they conversed. As though, if he left the room, he would find it had been nothing more than a dream, and he was alone once more.

“All right,” Loki said. Agreement always made the other party more relaxed, and sometimes they forgot to ask what exactly had been agreed upon.

Then he reached up, and took hold of the metal ring, and twisted. And it fell away at once, easily, into his hand, and Loki stood up easier, as he felt life flowing into his body, and a tightness he had not noticed being released, and a peace and calm descend upon him, and power sparked at his fingertips like lightning. But he couldn’t think of Thor, not now. He had left Thor and all that he had been behind.

Then the man looked at him as though waiting for him to spend his life on a futile escape or attack, and when Loki didn’t try anything, he turned and opened the door, and they entered. 


	4. Chapter 4

It was a small room indeed. The two hardly fit together and Loki was uncomfortably aware of the man’s proximity, of the fact that the man was so much taller than he was. But again he did not need to think of that too much because what was in the middle of this small room was interesting enough.

It was a staff, a staff standing vertical with something glowing, a blue gem almost but not quite a gem, perhaps. It stood in the middle of the staff like a claw, with the gem in the middle and he could feel a magnetism from it, a swirling, pointed, inexorable power that made him feel almost giddy and before he knew it he had reached for the staff.

But the man reached a hand out and grabbed his arm so tight it hurt, and he made himself relax, made himself shrink back, look at the ground. Then he let go, and Loki lowered his arm.

The man chuckled. “Everyone does that, the first time,” he said. Then he turned, he moved to block the view of the staff though Loki could still feel it, whispering to him, tempting him. “I am going to show you something,” he said. He reached out and grabbed Loki by the shoulders, forcing him down to kneel at his feet, and Loki hid his flare of annoyance, that if he wished him to kneel, he could have only asked.

And then he moved away and reached toward the staff, and Loki followed his movements curiously wondering what he was going to do and then he picked up the staff.

He turned around, and came forward, slowly, tip outstretched. And yet he surely wasn’t planning to kill him, his movements did not seem to presage that, and so he watched, as he brought the tip closer to his chest, to rest against his heart.

And then he could feel it more than ever. The power of the staff. The great, vast power as if all the universe resided in that little gem, and he could not help but be pulled toward it, and the man knew it.

And as he watched, the swirling mists that came from inside the gem flowed from the tip of the staff and into him, and through him, and he felt as if light shone from his eyes and his mouth.

“Watch,” said the man, and Loki obeyed.

He saw vast spaces before him, and the power to destroy them with a whisper. Secrets he had never known. He felt at once the most powerful being in the universe and the most insignificant, and he stood on the tip of a precipice and watched the ground crumble under his feet and a thousand songs sprung from the rain and withered and died as a thousand lifetimes passed and all the antlike people scurried around like miniature candles. And he saw Thanos, as he knew the man’s name to be, hold out his hand, and the lights were dimmed—he took one step and the ants were crushed under his feet. And he felt the part of him that cared for these little things wither and die in the ecstacy of that eternal dance, because of course Death was greater than all of them, and his purpose was only to serve.

And then Thanos turned his eyes upon him, and reached out for him and took hold of him, teaching him everything that he would need to know to complete his purpose. He was the finest honed blade in the universe, and Thanos was the whetstone. And all about them Death, in all her glory, made war. 


	5. Chapter 5

Loki gasped, his breath coming raggedly, as Thanos pulled the staff away, his hands reached for it unthinkingly and Thanos brushed them aside, and he was still. The wild happiness of what he had seen still filled him, and yet it was draining away, leaving a hollow bitterness on his tongue. Once again, he was being used. Once again he was nothing more than an instrument of some higher will. And he resolved to fight with all he had against it.

But he looked up as if he were affected, and he asked with a voice raw and hoarse what he must do.

“What I have given you is only a taste of what you will experience,” Thanos said gravely. “Only a single drop in the ocean of knowledge and power you will gain if you help me in my designs.”

“Of course I will help you,” Loki said. “Have you not seen my very heart? Am I not worthy?”

Thanos smiled. He reached out and cupped his chin, gently, in his hand. “Not yet, my pet,” he said. “Not yet. But you will be.”

And that single phrase broke him, and he was crying as Thanos held his head up and then he let go, and Loki cried. That now. Of all places, of all times, of all people, that for this he might someday be worthy. And before him in his mind he saw the face of his father, as he told him he would never be enough. 


	6. Chapter 6

The guard took Loki back to the room he had come from, his dark and lonely cell. As the door closed behind him Loki breathed a sigh of relief. For now, he was alone. And he could think without the constant teasing of the staff just beyond his reach, or the equal pull of Thanos’s words. He knew that he had been used, and he knew, equally well, that he had been glad of it—that for one moment his outward actions had come far too close to the truth, and he knew that he must not let himself be so easily swayed in the future.

Yet equally well, he knew it would be harder and harder to resist. What he needed was his own purpose, something so strong it would override all of Thanos’s attempts at coercion.

But he was at a loss. For he had no purpose. He had had no purpose since he fell—none but escape, and yet the simple pull of freedom would soon die under the greater lure of knowledge, of peace.

So he turned his thoughts back, back before the fall, and his eye lit upon Thor—bright Thor, whom he loved, whom he hated, whom he tried to kill and who tried to kill him. For one moment he thought he felt phantom arms encircling him, and Thor whispering something into his ear.

But he banished the thought. He turned his eye upon Odin—Odin, who had said he would never be good enough, who had known he was a monster and had said nothing.

And then his thoughts went to Midgard, where the fair Jane resided, the mortal who had stolen Thor’s heart in only days. Midgard, least of the Nine and yet central to it all. Midgard, from whose ground he might see Asgard above. Thor would surely not allow any threat to his precious realm. But how would he get there? He must have another design, one more suitable, one Thanos would find believable and one which he himself could believe. He looked down upon the tiny world and saw the death and the destruction and this time he did not glory in it. This time he wept, and he reached out and took from them their freedom, and gave them peace.

And all around the globe, his subjects knelt to him, and he was a greater king than any in all of the Nine. And their worship and praise filled him, and he felt at once loved. 


	7. Chapter 7

He was still hungry, but at least with his magic once more it was not as crippling as it had been. He wondered if they were planning to feed him at all, or if he were to live on darkness alone. Perhaps they thought if he could survive a fall through the void he could survive without eating. Perhaps this was part of the plan to make him a puppet to do their bidding. Or rather Thanos’s bidding. In the visions he had seen, there was no place for the Chitauri, and he wondered if they knew that. He wondered how they had gotten such a leader as Thanos. Wonderings enough to fill the many hours alone. But he was in no mood for wondering. He curled up and tried to sleep again. Sleep was something he had not been able to indulge in while he fell, and he found it a temporary balm to all that was wounding. If only he could sleep and never wake!

And so the darkness of the room was replaced with light, and his mind flew from his body and down through the passages of time, to some sunlit garden long ago. 


	8. Chapter 8

And again he woke. He was escorted down the passage to the room where Thanos had been, and he was there again. Again the darkness of the room was interspersed with shafts of light. So this planet had day after all.

The guard left, and he stood in the room, and Thanos stood in front of him, and even with all his will, his nervousness made him feel sick. Thanos could not learn of his true motives. He could not be enticed by the staff. This was what must not happen. That was all. It was a short list of things, and he would be fine. He had had much practice.

“Come,” Thanos said, and again they walked, footsteps soft against the ground, though Thanos’s boots were hard. To the door of the chamber, and they walked inside.

Now Thanos reached to the staff but, desperate to put it off, Loki spoke rashly. “May I ask, my lord,” he stammered, “what your plan is?”

Thanos turned to him at looked at him with his strange bright eyes. “Have you learned nothing? My plan is to court Death, to lavish gifts upon her in every realm.”

“I only mean to say,” Loki said, “how do you plan to go about it? This planet seems far from other realms, and would it not be hard to bring an army where you will over such long distances?”

“I have managed before,” Thanos answered. “And yet I see you have some idea. Speak.”

“Well,” Loki said, and his tongue was now speaking while his mind cast around for something to say, something that had occurred to him only slightly, but which he felt was the key to everything. In the end, it was the glimpse of blue as his eyes passed over the gem that recalled it to mind. “the tesseract. It has power, almost as this gem does—and with it, it is possible to make portals between worlds.”

Thanos looked interested. He came closer up to Loki, staring him down. “Does it now?”

“Yes. At the moment it resides on Earth, but of a long time it was held by Odin himself.”

“really.”

Loki swallowed slightly, his tongue felt dry as his throat. But it didn’t help. “With that, you could travel wherever you wished at a moment’s thought. You could even use it’s power to destroy.”

“And do you propose to get this tesseract for me?”

“Only if you wish it.”

Thanos grinned. “Ah!” he said. “I knew you would be the one. I knew it the first moment I saw you.” He reached out and brushed a hand over his hair, as if Loki was a favored dog. And Loki felt the well of hate in his heart gain one more drop, and he smiled.

“In fact, I have known about this tesseract long before,” Thanos said. “But I did not know it was now on Earth.” He turned and paced the few steps to the staff. “Leave me,” he said. “I have much to discover.”

Loki stood for one moment before it registered that he had gotten what he wanted, and yet he could not help the hungry glance as his gaze lingered on the staff before he turned to go.

As before, there was a guard waiting for him. Perhaps the same guard, he did not know.

“That was quick.”

Loki shrugged, and they walked in silence back to his cell, and the door closed behind him with finality. And the more times he had to stay in this bare room the more he hated it with everything in his being. And he forced himself to think about the fact that somehow, he had become afraid of being alone.

It did not sit well with him, that thought. As though he could be accused of craving companionship. Perhaps it was only that, when others were present, there was no such thing as silence. 


	9. Chapter 9

The rest this time was interrupted by nightmares, and he found himself waking more often than not to the darkness around him. Of course his plan would work. It must work. His plans had a way of working (Thor used to say, ‘everything you do either works out perfectly or ends disastrously’ and he was forced to agree) but for this, at least, there was no question. It must work. Everything depended on it.

The floor was hard but not rough, as were the walls. It was still warm, still almost too warm, unless his was a changed perception of warmth, and yet that was ridiculous because what would have done that? Unless it was the fall through the void, the constant chill that had begun at last to feel normal, that everything apart from that seemed hot—

Because he had seen his hands only a day ago and they had been perfectly normal then, and they felt perfectly normal now, when he reached out hesitantly as though he might feel thin ridges under his fingertips.

He sat and stared up into the darkness and cursed Thor for pushing him from the bifrost. He cursed Odin for all his many failings, and cursed Thor again, for being such an arrogant fool. And in his mind he turned to his mother in fear and she turned her head away, afraid to touch him, and yet he could not curse her.

This time seemed to last longer. Perhaps it was only that he could not sleep, or perhaps it was true. But he began to fear they had forgotten him, all rational thought saying otherwise, that he would be locked up in here for another eternity unable to die.

So when the door opened finally he could not help the rush of goodwill toward the anonymous guard, and he gave it a thin smile that the guard returned with a blank look.

And once again they traveled to Thanos. And when they were alone Thanos smiled, and once again his smile filled Loki with the most profound terror. Then he said, “you were right.” He started to walk, expecting Loki to follow, and Loki followed. They went into the small room, close and hot as the door closed behind them. And Thanos spoke. “As a reward for your services, I will give you what you could never dream of.”

Loki bit his tongue, his natural inclination to say that if he had never dreamed of it that probably meant he didn’t want it. Thanos reached for the scepter, and held it out, conveying with a dip of his head that he wished Loki to kneel. And so he did, and felt the presence of the scepter as it touched his heart, and it was all the sweeter this time that he could more easily understand it.

Then they were gone, and again, the universe was before him. But this time, instead of seeing from afar, he saw from inside, from inside the warp and weft of the universe, and he was at once the very fabric of reality and the potential to tear it apart, he saw how everything fit, the patterns that flew from his eyes.

And as always, Death strode through, her handiwork littering the ground like so many paintings, arranged with a careless art. And her offerings piled before her feet, and her every smile was worth a world.

And though time was meaningless here, Loki wondered if this had not lasted longer than the last, because he did not think the last time he had learned so much. His lessons were brutal but filled with joy, and he felt like something less than himself. Every time he had a hold on it the world would spin away, and he would be nothing more than a blank slate.

“You are a stubborn one,” Thanos whispered, as he pulled him apart once again.

But could he help it that Loki fought for his self at every opportunity? For what else did he have?

“You have this,” he answered, it was all before him. And then it was in him, and he was within it, everything he saw and heard so much he felt he would be torn from his moorings like a boat in a terrible storm.

“Let go,” Thanos said, and Death came again, carving him into a hollow figure for her amusement, and he had the scepter in his hand, and rewove the universe to please them.

He was a conduit through which water poured endlessly, he was a wire along which electricity flowed. He was nothing, and yet he held everything. He was possibility incarnate.

“Good,” Thanos said, and at once he had eyes, and he saw—

he saw truth.

Like the sea that fell from the edge of the earth, outstretched and inexorable, he saw the truth.

And Thanos turned to him. “What do you see?”

And the unnamed spoke with a voice he did not have, but he still had lies, even now. “I see Death,” he said. “And it is glorious.” 


	10. Chapter 10

Loki was shaking. Thanos withdrew the scepter and this time he had not even the strength to reach for it, he felt alive and in pieces, as if he would have to rebuild himself from scratch. For a moment he could not remember his own name, but then it came to him, and with it he was grounded, and he looked up.

“You are ready,” said Thanos. “Come.” And instead of putting down the scepter, he walked away holding it, out of the room, and the air that came in was cool. So Loki stood up, leaning against the wall for support. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision and he had to close his eyes. His skin felt stretched upon his bones, as if he were a fire consuming itself.

He wondered how long they had been here. Some part of him would not be surprised that empires rose and fell while he was gone.

He took shaky steps out of the room, Thanos almost across it already, and hurried as much as he was able to catch up. Perhaps those who Thanos had used the scepter on before had died before they could be of any use. He felt like dry grass in the wind.

They walked out of the hall, and out, and farther out—out of the building until they stood in the snowy plain. The Chitauri gathered around them like flies to a carcass.

“Here is your new general,” Thanos proclaimed, in a voice the likes of which brooked no argument.

“What?” Loki said, and he felt the unmoving, angry stares of the Chitauri on him.

“Come here,” Thanos said. Loki walked as close as he dared, afraid against everything that he would reach to grab the staff, but Thanos only laughed. “It is yours now.” he said. “I am allowing you to use it for the purpose of getting me the tesseract.”

And he held out the staff, and Loki took it.

At once the foreign power raced through him, and he felt new. He stood up with such a smile as might frighten the stars, and beside him Thanos said, “You may ask whatever you wish.”

The thought took only a moment to coalesce. Such a bright, tempting thought—that he would make them all kneel before him. But that was to be his reward upon reaching Midgard. And so he only turned to Thanos and asked quietly, “If I may.”

“Yes?”

“When we reach Earth—” Loki swallowed, his breath felt much too thin to sustain him, and he wondered if he would be killed at last for his reaching, “may I rule it?”

Thanos looked at him. And he felt sure he had gone too far, and braced for the final blow. But he smiled. “Of course. It is a little realm, after all, and there are much better fruits to give my lady Death. Do not be so concerned, my pet.” He reached out and trailed a finger along Loki’s throat. “Death will come for you all, in the end.”

Distantly, Loki wondered if that was a threat. And he was seething. How would he control his army if Thanos insisted on treating him like a child in front of them all?

But when he turned to look at them spread before him he realized that it did not matter. They were too loyal to Thanos not to obey him, and now he had the staff.

And at that thought, the staff in his hand hummed like a living thing, delighting in the promise of destruction.

“Now, little sorcerer,” Thanos said, “Make a portal.”

And the weight of failure was heavy. “I can’t make one big enough to bring the whole army through.”

“That is what the tesseract is for, is it not?”

“Oh,” Loki said. “Yes.” He closed his eyes and willed his magic. The power of the staff rushed in eagerly, almost overpowering his own magic, but multiplying it tenfold. And yet it was so much harder to control, always going to thoughts of destruction. He grit his teeth, sweat sheening his brow, and tried to find the doorways that had once been so easy for him. And finally, at last, when he was beginning to fear he would never find it, something opened.

He felt the call of the tesseract through the portal, and the staff gave an answering hum. It drove up into a song, an unbearable song, beautiful and deadly.

he stepped forward, and as the end closed behind him he thought again, I must not lose my purpose. I must not—

he stumbled. He was in a dark room, and the air was hot. He stared around in incomprehension, before it finally occurred to him that yes, he had done it—

“put down the staff.”

The words came as if from far away. He turned, and looked—to find he was holding the staff still. And it prompted him with glorious purpose, and he turned.


End file.
